The TABloids. Issue 17, April, 2026

Kind of Bad Pizza

By: Oliver

There are all kinds of bad pizza — soggy pizza, doughy pizza, burnt pizza — but I’m talking about the kind of bad pizza served at the Plus on Barstow Street in the city of Eau Claire.

Pizza is famously one of the most enjoyed foods in the country, with about 350 slices eaten every second. Naturally, as with all good things, there are reasons for pizza’s popularity. Jeffrey Miller from Colorado State University says that due to caramelization, the flavors in toppings and in the dough are enhanced after baking, making it much better and more enjoyable. Of course, there are many factors that Miller determines can contribute to the quality of a pizza. The balance of sauce to cheese to crust is highly subjective and debated but can make or break a pizza experience for the consumer, as a pizza that’s too greasy won’t have a delightfully crispy crust. It’s not like the pizza served at the Plus is too crispy or not crispy enough, or that its sauce ratio is off, or that it’s too greasy. The crust is too limp, making the slices impossible to pick up and eat. Eating pizza at the Plus is a disappointing experience, but I’ve never gone to the establishment with the intention of eating its pizza.

For over a year now, on the last Monday of every month, about twenty music students from the university get together and play in a big band downtown at the Plus, and every time they did, I would sub out with one of the alto sax players to play in their second set. As I was hardly able to hold a conversation with any other member of the band, sitting down and just playing music for an hour felt like magic to me.

Sean would call out a tune, I’d flip to the page and the next five minutes would be pure bliss. It didn’t matter that much if I missed a note, an entrance, or screwed up on an improvised solo. In fact, even if I played poorly, the other saxophones encouraged me to stick around. Even if I had been playing for a while and whoever I had swapped in with had just been sitting and listening, they encouraged me to keep playing because at the end of the day it wasn’t about hitting the right notes or sounding good or playing music, it was about a community, a group of kids who love music and want to share that love with others. It was about creating an environment where you could try things and put yourself out there, where you could meet new people who love what you love and make memories and music all at the same time.

The band didn’t get paid for this. Instead, the Plus paid us with pizza. They would bring out a few pizzas — a bit of cheese, maybe some pepperoni — but never enough for twenty-five people. The first time my brother, a member of the band, told me that I should take some, he told me that I was basically a part of the group. I felt amazing, being good enough to be lumped in with those musicians and to partake in some of their kind of bad pizza. I felt good until everyone split off into small groups to talk, to hang out, to eat pizza. Every month, the moment that I stepped off stage, I felt as if I were a stranger again. Everyone acted the same as they had during the set, but the moment the pizza came out, I suddenly felt as if I had nothing to say. So, nearly every month, I left without taking any pizza, without hanging out and talking with the group that I had felt like a part of just ten minutes prior. When I came back the following month, the cycle repeated itself again, nearly without fail. I almost always left feeling amazing, because somehow, I, a mediocre high school sax player, felt good about playing with a bunch of incredible college students. Still though, a hint of that isolated loneliness seemed to sneak into my mind every time that kind of bad pizza came out of the kitchen.

The big band doesn’t meet at the Plus anymore. Or on Mondays. No more of the kind of bad pizza and social hour after the performance. I give kind of bad pizza 4 stars.